


The Change

by BubblyCeci



Series: Werewolf Alpha Stiles Stilinski [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Gen, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyCeci/pseuds/BubblyCeci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part One of my Alpha Stiles series. Written while listening to Imagine Dragon's 'Bleeding Out,' but is not a song fic.</p>
<p>"Werewolves. He wanted to cry- or maybe laugh, hysteria was interesting like that- but he didn’t have time. Not when he was being held against the concrete wall by one of them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Change

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a series of stories detailing the life and times of the Stilinski pack. I have no solid idea of where it's headed, but I have seven parts written so far, all of varying length, and several ideas.

            Stiles didn’t know what they were- not for sure- but he could guess. The cliché muttonchops and razor sharp fang-claw combo left few reasonable choices. Plus, there was the way they growled as they snatched his cousin- almost eleven years younger than his own sixteen and fragile- out of his arms.

            _Werewolves_. He wanted to cry- or maybe laugh, hysteria was interesting like that- but he didn’t have time. Not when he was being held against the concrete wall by one of them.

            It- _he_ , he was a person, a very bad person, but a damn person- was different from the other ones. They all deferred to him, he noticed, circled around him like guardians protecting a king. His grip was stronger than the one that had dragged him there, his senses seemed sharper. And his eyes were red, a bloody crimson far unlike the golden-yellows and bright sapphire-blues of the rest.

            His blood pumped in his veins, beating a furious tattoo. Adrenaline and not a little fear burned through his body, and he resisted the urge to cry out for help. It was a difficult task, but he was sure they would kill him if he opened his mouth- hell, Scott sometimes got that urge, and they had been best friends since second grade.

            “Come on, man, just let me go,” he murmured, trying to keep calm against the panic welling- slowly but surely- inside. It was hard, so hard, to keep his face blank of his emotions, his voice steady and his tone soothing. But he had to- Nate was depending on him, and it wouldn’t do for him to get murdered before he could help the kid. “I won’t tell anyone about this. I just want to get my cousin and go home, that’s it. I swear to god, I won’t say anything to anyone.”

            The man cocked his head to the side, a feral smile showing off his pointed teeth. The claws holding his hair tightened, digging against the scalp, and he held in a hiss of pain. “You’re not lying,” he threw out, almost playful, “but that doesn’t matter. I want you as a Beta, and that’s what you’re going to be. A wonderful, obedient little Beta I can breed.”

            The panic surged like a tidal wave. Oh, god, was that even possible? Not to him- humans- but to them? Werewolves? His breathing, already rabbit fast, quickened, and his vision narrowed to focus on the man holding him up.

            Stiles felt the hand in his hair tug, forcibly tilting his head to the side to expose his neck, and he choked back a whimper as the claws scratched deeper into the sensitive skin. He watched as, almost in slow motion, the man opened his mouth- so many teeth, so sharp, _how did they all fit_ \- and struck like a snake. The needle teeth sunk into the junction of his shoulder and neck, and it _burned_. The bite wound burned, and the skin around it turned numb.

            His vision flared back to life, everything vivid and vibrant where it had been dull seconds ago. Smells assaulted his nose, good and bad- young and happy, sunshine, and then there was blood, the dry combination of salty sweat and tears, cum, pheromones from what smelt like male and female and healthy, hurt and so much fear. Sounds, too, echoed in his ears, things he couldn’t have heard before- nocturnal animals on the hunt, the wisp of fabric moving as the werewolves shifted on the balls of their feet, the steady pounding of their hearts and the roaring of his own.

            He was overwhelmed, and his head hurt so much he thought it was going to explode. He didn’t think, he reacted to the threat- _not pack, hurt me, took mine, hurting mine_. He growled, a low rumble meant to cower, and his claws- burning through his fingertips like an insistent itch- sliced through the man’s jugular. He fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut, surprise marring his features and glowing red eyes turning glassy hazel.

            Stiles had a moment of satisfaction, something in him- the wolf, maybe, new though it was- preening in pride at his ending the threat. Then, the rush. Where panic had flown through his body, strong power- power, there was no other word for the almost orgasmic feel of static- raced, erasing the last traces of it.

            He let out a roar, loud and proud and establishing his dominance over the territory. The werewolves surrounding him fled, neigh on powerless at having lost their leader and unwilling to challenge the one whom had killed him. The female holding Nate snarled before she went, and her hands gripped his delicate jaw, twisting and snapping his neck with little effort.

            The teen was on her seconds later, doing the same and then ripping her to pieces, a furious growl thrumming through him as he worked. The rush echoed through him again, not as powerful as when he killed red-eyes but enough to garner recognition. He ignored it, dropping to his knees beside his five year old cousin’s body. A bizarre mixture of misery and justice lanced through him- _pack lost, redeemed, retribution_ \- and he howled.


End file.
